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This is the official blog of Northern Arizona slam poet Christopher Fox Graham. Begun in 2002, and transferred to blogspot in 2006, FoxTheBlog has recorded more than 423,000 hits since 2009. This blog cover's Graham's poetry, the Arizona poetry slam community and offers tips for slam poets from sources around the Internet. Read CFG's full biography here. Looking for just that one poem? You know the one ... click here to find it.

A Haiku Death Match is a competitive poetry duel that is a subgenre of poetry slam. The Haiku Death Match is a prominent feature at the annual National Poetry Slam, replete with full costume for the host, Jim Navé from Taos, N.M. or Daniel Ferri.

At GumptionFest IV, we will attempt to hold a Haiku Death Match as similar to the NPS version as possible.

What is haiku?Haiku (俳句) is a form of Japanese poetry consisting of 17 syllables in three metrical phrases of 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables.

Japanese haiku typically contain a kigo, or seasonal reference, and a kireji or verbal caesura. In Japanese, haiku are traditionally printed in a single vertical line, while haiku in English usually appear in three lines, to parallel the three metrical phrases of Japanese haiku.

What is slam haiku?Slam haiku used in a Haiku Death Match is far simpler: Use of three or fewer lines of 17 syllables. Slam haiku can be anything from a single 17-syllable line or simply 17 words. Two of mine:

Traditional 5-7-5 haikuSerial Killer HaikuFunny you should askmy trunk can fit two Boy Scoutsand a grandmother

American 17-syllable haikuGrammar Haiku:Why isn't "phonetic" spelled phonetically?While you think, let's make out

A standard Haiku Death Match is conducted thus:The host randomly draws the names of two poets, known as haikusters, from the pool of competitors.The haikusters adorn headbands of two colors: Red and Not-Red (white).Red Haikuster and Host bow to each other.Not-Red Haikuster and Host bow to each other.Red Haikuster and Not-Red Haikuster bow to each other.Red Haikuster goes first.The Red Haikuster reads his or her haiku twice. The audience does not clap or make noise (usually, though, they laugh or vocalize, but, of course, we must pretend that this is completely unacceptable).The Not-Red Haikuster reads his or her haiku twice. Again, the audience does not clap or make noise.The host waits for the three judges to make their choice for winner, then signals them to hold aloft their Red or Not-Red flag.Simple majority (3-0 or 2-1) determines the winner.The host asks the audience to demonstrate “the sound of one hand clapping,” i.e., silence, then “the sound of two hands clapping,” at which point they can finally applaud. The mock ceremony involving the audience is half the fun.The winning haikuster then goes first.Depending on the round, the winner will be best 3 of 5, 4 of 7, best 5 of 9, etc., of a number determined beforehand for each round.After the duel, Red Haikuster and Not-Red Haikuster bow to each other and shake hands. The next duel begins.Rules for the GumptionFest IV Haiku Death Match:

Titles: Haikusters can read their haiku titles before they read the haiku. (This gives the haikusters technically more syllables to put the haiku in context, but the haiku itself must still be only 17 syllables. While this is not “pure” Haiku Death Match rules, it’s much more fun for the audience.

Originality: Poets must be the sole authors of the haiku they use in competition. Plagiarized haiku are grounds for disqualification. We all love Matsuo Bashō, but he’s 300 years too dead to compete.

On-page or memorized?: Poets can read from the page, book, journal, notepad, etc.

Preparation: Poets can have haiku written beforehand or write them in their head while at the mic. As long as the haiku are 17 syllables, we don’t care how, when or from where the haiku originates.

Rounds: Will be determined by the number of haikusters who sign up to compete.

Quantity of haiku needed: Depends on the number of rounds. 30 haiku will likely be enough for poets who push rounds to the last haiku needed and go all the rounds, but 50 to 100 gives haikusters enough material to be flexible in competition. Most veteran haikusters have several hundred to compete with.

Censorship: Adult themes and language are acceptable. There may be children present so you may have to deal with their parents afterward, but that’s your call.

If your opponent reads a serious or deep haiku, read one that is more serious or more profound, or go on the opposite tack and read something funny.

If your opponent reads a funny haiku, read one that is funnier, or go on the opposite tack and read something serious or deep.

If your opponent makes fun of you, make fun of yourself even bigger or make fun of them. A good head-to-head haiku can work wonders and often wins a Haiku duel. For instance, my “Damien Flores Haiku,” “Easy way to win: / Damien is 20, Officer, / and he's drunk."

If you’re on stage and you get an idea for a haiku, feel free to write it down immediately. That might be the next round’s haiku that wins you the duel.

Have a good time. Even if don't get past the first round, it's still a great time for all.

Still Scared of Haiku?Don't be, they're easy to write. Haiku Death Match haiku are not likely to be remembered centuries from now, so don't stress out. Write short poems that you find entertaining and enjoyable.

Take these examples and see how easy haiku can be. Anonymous haiku:

Haiku are easybut sometimes they don't make sense ...refrigerator

she dances lithelyseduction under the moonI ... hey, a nickel!

My life is JelloSitting, waiting in the bowlPatiently to gel

"Doom" Haiku:Frag demons for hoursStare at the screen with red eyesit's time for class

Thursday, July 30, 2009

One of the 12 Olympians of Slam, Marty McConnell is one of the best female voices in the national poetry slam scene.

I first saw her at the 2001 National Poetry Slam in Seattle, Wash., and had a odd, but fun moment at a party in one of the hotel rooms with Marty, Daphne Gottlieb and Taylor Mali -- a story I like to tell newbie slammers when they make their first slam team and are heading off to nationals .... ... In any case, I have a lifelong crush and we coincidentally share the same tattoo.

"Give Me One Good Reason to Die" asks "what would you die for?The question in a simple one, and one that easily lends itself to the particulars of a political poem. I have seen variations of this poem range from leftist topics like equality, human rights, social revolution, rightist concepts like gods and countries and more mundane topics like love, world peace or one's art. Used humorously, this concept can extend to emo music, a good cup of coffee. I have also seen the idea used as an anti-conceit for ironic effect.

In this poem, Marty McConnell uses the conceit not to discuss what she in particular would die for but that our generation is so lackadaisical on creature comforts and devoid of purpose that we have little to fight for. Yet, at the crux of the poem, she points to the social injustices that would seemingly be worth dying for if members of our generation chose to fight for them.Thus, the concept works both ways in eviscerating the conceit then criticizing those who accept her argument by reversing course.

at the millennial rolling-over pointbaby boomer one-time-hippiesturned parents across these United States groan,"when we said'you can be anything' we meant'you can be a brain surgeon ordistrict attorney orgenetic engineer' -- wedidn't mean you should becomea... poet."

But it was Dad who taught me that the callof my wild heart rings as validas any voice of reason

And Mom who showed me that raging terror of where you're headedis the surest sign you're travelingin the right direction

This is a generationbeyond definition, unconvincedthe American dream isn't a fictionof REM sleep; certaingender matters less than love; determinedthe apocalypse won't catch us napping.

Breast-fed on "how many roads must a man walk down,"we watched our creators sacrifice their sharp edgesto stay within the lines; small wonder we raceto rant about wrongs orfind the edge of the planetand lean at the lip of the void

We are the change generation,fitted with the inconsistenciesof a millennium in flux; vagabond lot, weskitter one city to the nextin seek of a home not in need of so much repair;see, our inherited tools they fit fit like a Phillips-headin a slot-top screw; we know that sit-insend in tear gas and tanks,picket lines in promisesand compromises, lobbyingin backrooms and bullshit

I might believe in this Revolutionif one person proved he knewwhat he was fighting forand how

because the KKK still erects a cross in Cincinnati's Fountain Square every Christmas and

teenage girls have to weigh back alleys versus daddy's fists to secureabortions and

Promise Keepers fill stadiums while poets play coffeehouses and

if I fucked a woman in Alabama, Arizona, Arkansas, Florida, Idaho, Kansas, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, North Carolina, South Carolina, Oklahoma, Texas, Virginia or UtahI could get anywhere from 30 days to 20 years in jail

I don't ownenough rage for it all -- I amninety-five miles per hour on I-81, sprintingto track the tirade vibratingon the next stage

is Anybody Listening?

I livein search of a cause worth dying for

We are a generation of screamerssilenced by the conspiracy of comfortthat cradles us voicelessin our PC cities, where only the drunkand the dangerous spill what seethesin so many

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

This "sneaky" tactic takes advantage of the sometimes irritating habit of reading a disclaimer before reading a poem. However, the disclaimer winds up being the poem itself. This is sometimes used very briefly as a hook, as in "Before I start this poem / I'll like to say that the first three lines / you won't think are the poem / but by line four you know I've started"

This strategy has several species:

Before I Start this Poem ... I'll Read You a Political Poem"A Moment of Silence Before I Start This Poem"The beauty of this poem is built around the hook of a moment of silence. In the wake of the Sept. 11 attacks, moments of silence became more commonplace than normal and found their places everywhere.

The concept of hijacking a moment of silence disclaimer is not a new one, but Ortiz' version ranks as one of the most politically edgy given the environment following the Sept. 11 attacks.

Before I start this poem, I'd like to ask you to join meIn a moment of silenceIn honor of those who died in the World Trade Center and the Pentagon last Sept. 11th.I would also like to ask youTo offer up a moment of silenceFor all of those who have been harassed, imprisoned, disappeared,tortured, raped, or killed in retaliation for those strikes,For the victims in both Afghanistan and the USAnd if I could just add one more thing...

A full day of silenceFor the tens of thousands of Palestinians who have died at the hands of US-backed Israeli forces over decades of occupation.Six months of silence for the million and-a-half Iraqi people, mostly children, who have died of malnourishment or starvation as a result of an 11-year US embargo against the country.

Before I begin this poem,

Two months of silence for the Blacks under Apartheid in South Africa,Where "homeland security" made them aliens in their own country.Nine months of silence for the dead in Hiroshima and Nagasaki,Where death rained down and peeled back every layer of concrete, steel, earth and skinAnd the survivors went on as if alive.A year of silence for the millions of dead in Vietnam - a people, not a war - for those who know a thing or two about the scent of burning fuel, their relatives' bones buried in it, their babies born of it.A year of silence for the dead in Cambodia and Laos, victims of a secret war .... ssssshhhhh....Say nothing ...we don't want them to learn that they are dead.Two months of silence for the decades of dead in Colombia,Whose names, like the corpses they once represented,have piled up and slipped off our tongues.

Before I begin this poem.

An hour of silence for El Salvador ...An afternoon of silence for Nicaragua ...Two days of silence for the Guatemaltecos ...None of whom ever knew a moment of peace in their living years.45 seconds of silence for the 45 dead at Acteal, Chiapas25 years of silence for the hundred million Africans who found their graves far deeper in the ocean than any building could poke into the sky.There will be no DNA testing or dental records to identify their remains.And for those who were strung and swung from the heights of sycamore trees in the south, the north, the east, and the west...

100 years of silence...

For the hundreds of millions of indigenous peoples from this half of right here,Whose land and lives were stolen,In postcard-perfect plots like Pine Ridge, Wounded Knee, Sand Creek, Fallen Timbers, or the Trail of Tears.Names now reduced to innocuous magnetic poetry on the refrigerator of our consciousness ...

So you want a moment of silence?

And we are all left speechlessOur tongues snatched from our mouthsOur eyes stapled shutA moment of silenceAnd the poets have all been laid to restThe drums disintegrating into dust.

Before I begin this poem,You want a moment of silenceYou mourn now as if the world will never be the sameAnd the rest of us hope to hell it won't be.Not like it always has been.

Because this is not a 9/11 poem.This is a 9/10 poem,It is a 9/9 poem,A 9/8 poem,A 9/7 poemThis is a 1492 poem.

This is a poem about what causes poems like this to be written. And if this is a 9/11 poem, then:This is a September 11th poem for Chile, 1971.This is a September 12th poem for Steven Biko in South Africa, 1977.This is a September 13th poem for the brothers at Attica Prison, New York, 1971.This is a September 14th poem for Somalia, 1992.

This is a poem for every date that falls to the ground in ashesThis is a poem for the 110 stories that were never toldThe 110 stories that history chose not to write in textbooksThe 110 stories that CNN, BBC, The New York Times, and Newsweek ignored.This is a poem for interrupting this program.

And still you want a moment of silence for your dead?We could give you lifetimes of empty:The unmarked gravesThe lost languagesThe uprooted trees and historiesThe dead stares on the faces of nameless childrenBefore I start this poem we could be silent foreverOr just long enough to hunger,For the dust to bury usAnd you would still ask usFor more of our silence.

If you want a moment of silenceThen stop the oil pumpsTurn off the engines and the televisionsSink the cruise shipsCrash the stock marketsUnplug the marquee lights,Delete the instant messages,Derail the trains, the light rail transit.

If you want a moment of silence, put a brick through the window of Taco Bell,And pay the workers for wages lost.Tear down the liquor stores,The townhouses, the White Houses, the jailhouses, the Penthouses and the Playboys.

If you want a moment of silence,Then take itOn Super Bowl Sunday,The Fourth of JulyDuring Dayton's 13 hour saleOr the next time your white guilt fills the room where my beautifulpeople have gathered.

You want a moment of silenceThen take it NOW,Before this poem begins.Here, in the echo of my voice,In the pause between goosesteps of the second hand,In the space between bodies in embrace,Here is your silence.Take it.But take it all... Don't cut in line.Let your silence begin at the beginning of crime.But we, tonight we will keep right on singing...For our dead.

Ortiz is the author of a chapbook of poems, "The Word is a Machete," and his poetry has appeared in numerous publications, including two books published in Australia: "Open Boat - Barbed Wire Sky" an anthology of poems to aid refugees and asylum-seekers, and "Passion for Peace: Exercising Power Creatively."

Ortiz currently serves on the board of directors for the Minnesota Spoken Word Association, and is the coordinator of Guerrilla Wordfare, a Twin Cities-based grassroots project bringing together artists of color to address sociopolitical issues and raise funds for progressive organizing in communities of color through art as a tool of social change.

This "sneaky" tactic takes advantage of the sometimes irritating habit of reading a disclaimer before reading a poem. However, the disclaimer winds up being the poem itself. This is sometimes used very briefly as a hook, as in "Before I start this poem / I'll like to say that the first three lines / you won't think are the poem / but by line four you know I've started"

This strategy has several species:

Before I Start this Poem ... I'll Read You the TitleThis poem, inspired by one by former Arizona poet Scott Huntington Gamble, essentially has a romantic and fanciful disclaimer, although masked, which pivots on the hook "that was just the title / this is the poem."

"The Cost of Dynamite"By Christopher Fox Graham

magic lurks in her shrouded shouldersthat only her few lovers have tastedalthough scores claim her lips hold her enchantmentsI've been touched by neither,though her temptations keep me up at nightin the half-conscious imaginingsof our skin dancesher limbs have teased her proximityand her anticipatory warmthenlivens our thighs

caged horses feel this waywhen they see open fields beyond the fencesbut words like thesehungrily dripping ink on untouched pagesare best hidden on the unread bookshelveslest they betray the thousand sinswe would visit on each othershould the skies ever see them

and to Dante,who cataloged all our predecessors,Virgil neglected to reveal the 10th level of Disreserved solely for the lustful un-inhibitionsdestined to be enumerated in epic detailby some future poet,about the nights when she and Iunlock the inevitable collision of hips and skins

sinners have their new saintsand Screwtape has new lettersto write to Our Father Below

when our moment comes,expect the fire departmentand the local policeto secure the scenewhile Hugh Hefner and Larry Flyntthumb wrestle to the deathto secure the rightsprognosticators and prophets will claimthey saw the end coming in our comingin poetry critics will cite this poemclaiming it a talentless rehashof all slam poem to have come before

while my reply is simplythat those who must rely on these wordshave yet to hear the earthquakeswhen she lets loose her inhibitionsto her anticipationsand takes me along for the riderocking her hips to the storiesheld between her shoulders

dreamers, you have heard usin all your aimless wanderingswondering how you could've lived your livesbefore you knew of the chemistrybetween skins lockedin the exasperated expressionof all that is holy

we are dying, but in our echothe pageantries of our passionswill spill forth into the divine archetypesto rebuild a new civilization as yet unimagined

that was just the title,this is the poem:

in the lonely nights like these,I wait for a lover I've never kissedimagining that all these years of waiting for a meaningful loveraren't in vainmy fear is to look back in old ageknowing that when the time was rightI'd let her slip away into the history and memorytoo fearful of giving into the game we played:always aiming for a checkmateand afraid to lose I’ll play too harshshe'll step back from the boardleaving my pieces in forever-stalemate with the absence,seeking someone less serious and self-absorbed

if one of us can’t win the teasing testof how far we can push the boundsthen these days and calculationsaren't worth the weight of numbers we measure

and lofty words aside,I want to drift to sleep alongside herin awake unashamedly unalone,the way all great poets seem to do

but I'm too old to write about longing anymoremy poems of unrequited loverscould kill passersby if dropped from high storiesyearning has its limitsand the ones that should plague my pageswould be best concluded with“she's come again”

my words and would be better spilledrecounting ways to enumerate nuancesso that thousands could learn thembut so that they wouldn't forget the value of lonely momentsand if some student should find them in years henceknow that longing pains only focus so farin the prophetic knowledgethat there is a light beaconing the endI’d rather spend my days penning trivial sonnets at her sidethen scribbling the epic of the ages in a studio apartmentmade for one

illiteracy is inevitable and in timeall our silly words will become old,understandable only in classes where academicsteach the ancient tongues of Aristotle and Chaucer

no poem retains its immediacywhen the poet is ashbut descendents can carry the firein their blood through the ageslong after the poem is obsoleteand its author is a grad school essay questionin her embrace its locks onas if to a sinking ship’s life raft,pen and paper yards awaythe greatest poems of my fingerswill dance in her skinand those that may find their waythrough the sheetsto the floorto the pagesthey’ll merely echo those momentswhen we erased our knowledgeof spelling and consonantsinstead relying on vowels and the language of skinsto speak for us

these verses would I rather have annotate my daysin the press of her breathand our secret wordswould publish the best of mewhile all the restcan take the place when the moment suitsand the critics push aside their trivial jealousiesof not being born poeticto pencil in a few pagesof their doctoral thesis

for them but me insert bits of profanitya wayward cursea gratuitous “fuck”so they don't choose this piecefor its nonoffensive cleanlinessa well-placed “ass” can ruin a safe poem from publicationpun intended

these poems aren't for them anywaythey're just the thoughts of a boyclose enough to touch heryet far enough awayto measure her distance from himin multiples of the length of her shadowand the geography of heartbeats and unspoken wordserects mountains between usand the cost of dynamiteis bleeding my pockets dry

This "sneaky" tactic takes advantage of the sometimes irritating habit of reading a disclaimer before reading a poem. However, the disclaimer winds up being the poem itself. This is sometimes used very briefly as a hook, as in "Before I start this poem / I'll like to say that the first three lines / you won't think are the poem / but by line four you know I've started"

This strategy has several species:

Before I Start this Poem ... I'll Say Who This Poem is For

This poem takes the conceit and adapts it to quantify who the poem is for. However, the poem quickly becomes for the entire crowd. It almost works as a reverse argumentum ad hominem, in which the audience systemically include themselves in the groups that she includes. It begins with groups the audience would like not include themselves in, "the pathetic," "the lame," "the loser," then expands to more readily identifiable subgroups, "this poem is for all those who wish to say 'I’m sorry'" and "for all the humans with love for those who aren’t their lovers."

this poem is for the pillow clutchersfor those looking into the imaginary eyes of the person who fills their mind with sugarplum smilesfor those who have a cannon of dreams ready and waiting to blossomfor the men and the women who want to be understood in that way that only someone who kisses you can understand youthis poem is for you.

this poem is not for the desperatethe patheticthe lamethe losernot for the one who hasn’t gotten laid in awhilenot for the one who says they’re “choosing not to date” for a whilethere is no such thingthis poem is for the people who cannot bring themselves to admit that they would give their right leg for any length of time with the person on their mind.

forgive meI am not a brave womanI do not know what lurks in the hearts of humans and I don’t really want to knowif what’s there mirrors memories I show in my face on bad days it holds kisses that are long gonepeople who have disappearedand passions that have faded into the ether of the pastnothing laststhat is the one lesson this coward can say she is able to teach.

this poem is for all those who wish to say “I’m sorry”I’m sorry I couldn’t love youyou deserve loveI’m sorry I couldn’t give something to youyou deserve to be given toI’m sorry that for every person that loves somebodyanother person just doesn’t want toand sometimes we’re the lucky onesrightwe get to feel sweet truth in the nightthe bodies we reach out to are miraculously therebut I know the despair that comes when they are notI know the long nights and the doubt and the fear and that crawling back to a womb that just isn’t thereI know intensity’s address and the letdown that rents thereI’m sorry for itit takes years off your life and it cannot be avoided.

and some times these little words are crutches for the crush that we feelso this poem is a pathetic vehicle for me to tell youeach one of youthat I love youin so many waysin the same ways that stay up nights and daysdreaming up the perfect way to be there for someonemeals you would cook for thempoems you would write for them and the things you plan to say when they say nowell, I love youand you will never know how in the slight of a magician’s hand we could’ve been lovers and grandly in lovecould’ve changed the whole gamewritten words on the horizonchanged the compromisebut you will know something else insteadbitter as bitter ever getsmore bitter than a rotten peach pitmore bitter than a child’s most terrifying nightmare at nightyou will know that I don’t reflect what I see in your eyeswill will share some banal recognitionsome cordial understanding but have I mentioned that I love you for not lyingso many people lying all the timeI hate themso I love youand you will still go home aloneand that is very hard to do.

for all the humans with love for those who aren’t their loversI love you.

and so the poem ends because we know that it willbut before it slips away like everything elseI will attempt the only words I can think of that are a fraction as good as a kiss: when you reach out at night and find not someonebut the cold grey light of day that wakes you up like a slaplike a curselike an insultI love youwhen you stay at home thinking of those who are long gone or those who are getting kisses from someone that is not youI love youfor those who want what they probably need and whose bodies are starving not for foodfor me and for you and for all the people who never knew or understood what you would do for themI love youI love youI love you

“Tennessee Mary" Fons, an Iowa native, has been writing and performing her poetry and other solo works around the country for the better part of 6 years. She has been the featured performer in over 30 poetry slam venues.

Tennessee Mary represented the Green Mill at the National Poetry Slam in 2003 and represented Chicago again in 2005 as a member of the Mental Graffiti-Wicker Park team. She served for three years as Poetry Coordinator for Chicago’s Bucktown Arts Fest (2004-2007) and was a founding member of the Speakeasy Ensemble, a performance poetry group currently gigging in and around the Chicago.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

One of the 12 Olympians of Slam, Taylor Mali is known for many poems, not least of which is "What Teachers Make?"

"What Teachers Make?" is a great example of two slam poetry topics.

First, it is essentially a Declaration Poem -- about being a teacher -- wrapped in a loose narrative. Declaration poems espouse a value for a belief others may not have. A good slam poem can push your belief and make others see that value where they didn't before.

Second, ever wanted to say just the right thing to a jerk at a dinner party but it wasn't until you got home to say it? Known as an "espirit de l'escalier" or "spirit of the staircase," that witty one-liner, comeback, or diatribe comes only too late. However, your audience doesn't know that. With an "Espirit de l'escalier" slam poem, you can make it seem that not only did your response come instantly, you said it to the jerk's face in front of everyone. Now, you just need to repeat it the audience.

Essentially a revenge poem, the comeback can but full of humor, rage, and "putting the jerk (in this case, a lawyer) in his place."

Aside from the text of the poem itself, what makes this piece work so well is irritating traits Mali adds to his "foe:" he's a lawyer, he disregards the importance of teachers and, most obviously, he has an irritating laugh, which just adds to the reasons to hate the foe. Note that Mali uses this in both performed versions.

"What Teachers Make?" or "Objection Overruled," or "If things don't work out, you can always go to law school"By Taylor Maliwww.taylormali.com

He says the problem with teachers is, "What's a kid going to learn from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true what they say aboutteachers:Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.

I decide to bite my tongue instead of hisand resist the temptation to remind the other dinner gueststhat it's also true what they say about lawyers.

Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite company.

"I mean, you're a teacher, Taylor," he says."Be honest. What do you make?"

And I wish he hadn't done that(asked me to be honest)because, you see, I have a policyabout honesty and ass-kicking:if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional Medal of Honorand an A- feel like a slap in the face.How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.

I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hallin absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.No, you may not ask a question.Why won't I let you get a drink of water?Because you're not thirsty, you're bored, that's why.

I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:I hope I haven't called at a bad time,I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today.Billy said, "Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?"And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.

I make parents see their children for who they areand what they can be.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids wonder,I make them question.I make them criticize.I make them apologize and mean it.I make them write, write, write.And then I make them read.I make them spell "definitely beautiful," "definitely beautiful," "definitely beautiful"over and over and over again until they will never misspelleither one of those words again.I make them show all their work in math.And hide it on their final drafts in English.I make them understand that if you got this (brains)then you follow this (heart)and if someone ever tries to judge you by what you make,you give them this (the finger).

Let me break it down for you,so you know what I say is true:I make a goddamn difference! What about you?

As a slam poetry performer, Taylor Mali has been on seven National Poetry Slam teams; six appeared on the finals stage and four won the competition (1996 with Team Providence; 1997, 2000 and 2002 with Team NYC-Urbana).Mali is the author of "What Learning Leaves," has recorded four CDs, and is included in various anthologies. He is perhaps best known for the poem "What Teachers Make."He appeared in Taylor Mali & Friends Live at the Bowery Poetry Club and the documentaries "SlamNation" (1997) and "Slam Planet" (2006).He was also in the HBO production, "Russell Simmons Presents Def Poetry," which won a Peabody Award in 2003. Mali is the former president of Poetry Slam Incorporated, and he has performed with former U.S. Poet Laurette Billy Collins and Beat Poet Allen Ginsberg. Although he retired from the National Poetry Slam competition in 2005, he still helps curate NYC-Urbana Poetry Series, held weekly at the Bowery Poetry Club.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

"Where the Wild Things Are" by Maurice Sendak is a children's picture book originally published by Harper & Row. "Where the Wild Things Are" is an upcoming 2009 film adaptation. The film is directed by Spike Jonze and written by Jonze and Dave Eggers.

This was one of my favorite books growing up as a kid, mainly because I remember being sent to my room a lot by my father. I really want to go see this movie with my mom. I'm 30 years old, but this is a kid's movie and I should see it with her. If I didn't, something would really seem out of whack.

The book is about the wild adventure of a boy named Max who is sent to his room without his supper by his mother as punishment for talking back. Max wears a distinctive wolf suit during his adventures and encounters various mythical creatures, the "wild things." Although just ten sentences long, the book is generally regarded as a masterpiece of American illustrated children's literature.

The film combines live action, suitmation, animatronics, and CGI. Its release is currently scheduled for Oct. 16, 2009. The trailer features the song "Wake Up" by The Arcade Fire.

"Somethin' filled upmy heart with nothin',someone told me not to cry.

But now that I'm older,my heart's colder,and I can see that it's a lie.

Children wake up,hold your mistake up,before they turn the summer into dust.

If the children don't grow up,our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.We're just a million little gods causin' rain storms turnin' every good thing torust.

I guess we'll just have to adjust.

With my lightnin' bolts a glowin'I can see where I am goin' to bewhen the reaper he reaches and touches my hand.

With my lightnin' bolts a glowin'I can see where I am goin’With my lightnin' bolts a glowin'I can see where I am, go-go, where I am

You'd better look out below"

Written in 1963, it was awarded the Caldecott Medal in 1964. It also won the Boston Globe-Horn Book Award and was an ALA Notable Book.

And if the book can be read by President Barack Obama, it's got to be good, because anything that man touches turns to gold. Obama reads "Where The Wild Things Are" to kids at the White House Easter Egg Roll on Monday 13 April 2009.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Half the reason the poetry slam went off without much of a hitch, despite the mic dying from a dead battery midway through round three, was due to Deeds showing up in my moment of desperation to keep score and time.
My other scorekeeper simply never showed nor called.

I texted half a dozen people people before I heard back from Danielle. She showed up just before 7:00 p.m. and worked the whole slam, keeping score and time, and heckling me when the time was right.

My delightful little rant about how poetry is cool and why people should support the Flagstaff National Poetry Slam Team get to the National Poetry Slam held in West Palm Beach, Fla., from Aug. 4 to 8. The two easiest ways are with direct donations of cash, material support, or plane tickets. Contact Ryan Brown at ryanplease@hotmail.com.

The other way is to attend the second fundraising Sedona Poetry Slam at Studio Live at 7:30 p.m., Friday, July 17.

Jessica Guadarrama is a Sedona Red Rock High School alumna and current Northern Arizona University student. Guadarrama describes herself as a bilingual Mexican-American. She started writing in eighth grade but it wasn't until ninth grade that she discovered slam poetry when NORAZ Poets held a slam at the SRRHS auditorium.

Ryan Brownstated that he is a kid from Phoenix who spends most of his time posing as a writer and poet. He now goes to school and lives in Flagstaff, where he is the SlamMaster of the FlagSlam Poetry Slam.

Frank O'Brienis a 20-year-old student at Coconino Community College, focusing in the general studies and pre-nursing. Originally from Phoenix, O'Brien entered the slam poetry scene in fall 2007. In August 2008, he traveled with Cartier, Brown and Guadarrama to Madison, Wis., as a member of the 2008 Flagstaff National Slam Team. O'Brien is now an active poet and administrator of the FlagSlam Poetry Slam in Flagstaff.

Antranormus is a hip-hop artist who stated that he constantly seeks to redefine or blur completely the boundaries between hip-hop, poetry and absolute absurdity. Known for his complex, multisyllabic rhyme schemes and controversial subject matter, he has shared the stage with members of the Wu Tang Clan, Jurassic 5, Abstract Rude, Illogic, and Sole.

John Cartier helped revitalize Flagstaff's poetry slam scene two years ago and is on his second nationals team. Cartier is well-known for his politically savvy and socially edgy performance poetry.

The team will represent Northern Arizona against more than 80 other teams from around the country.

John Cartier helped revitalize Flagstaff's poetry slam scene two years ago and is on his second nationals team. Cartier is well-known for his politically savvy and socially edgy performance poetry. John Cartier represented the Flagstaff Team Jade Conscious at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009. Following the slam, John Cartier performed the victory poem on behalf of the Flagstaff Nationals Team.

Ryan Brown is a kid from Phoenix who spends most of his time posing as a writer and poet. He now goes to school and lives in Flagstaff, where he is the SlamMaster of the FlagSlam Poetry Slam.Ryan Brown represented the Flagstaff Nationals Team at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Aaron Levy is a longtime veteran of the Flagstaff poetry slam scene."I am an Anarchist. I believe that the capitalist fairy tale is killing us all. What's great is that it seems to be killing itself right now I love a great deal but I have no room in my life for dogmatic and destructive religions that are destroying this world through patriarchal heterosexist privilege constructs."Aaron Levy represented the Sedona Team at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.The poem ran 4:36, earning Aaron Levy a -4.5 time penalty. The humor of the poem, however, was totally worth that point loss.

Vermont slam veteran Kayt Perlman.Just in from Southern Vermont, Perlman aka Kayt Pearl, has recently relocated to Sedona with a deep sigh of relief. The north is cold. Co-founder of Women Divine Acapella & Rhyme, a traveling collaborative installment of all-women expression; Finder/Founder of Sound Foundation, an organization/movement for universal connection and cross cultural understanding through word and sound; northeastern regional slam poetess and co-master and founder of Martial Poetry Slams, the local slam scene in Brattleboro, Vt., local vocaless singer/songwriter and otherwise unknown human just trying to commun-i-kayt with the rest of us.Kayt Perlman represented the Sedona Team at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Jessica Guadarrama is a Sedona Red Rock High School alumna and current Northern Arizona University student. Guadarrama describes herself as a bilingual Mexican-American. She started writing in eighth grade but it wasn't until ninth grade that she discovered slam poetry when NORAZ Poets held a slam at the SRRHS auditorium.Jessica Guadarrama represented the Flagstaff Nationals Team at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Taylor Kayonnie is a 16-year-old poet from Flagstaff who has already made a name for herself competing against poets in college, their 20s and 30s. Tay represented the Flagstaff Team Jade Conscious at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Frank O'Brien is a 20-year-old student at Coconino Community College, focusing in the general studies and pre-nursing. Originally from Phoenix, O'Brien entered the slam poetry scene in fall 2007. In August 2008, he traveled to Madison, Wis., as a member of the 2008 Flagstaff National Slam Team. O'Brien is now an active poet and administrator of the FlagSlam Poetry Slam in Flagstaff.Frank O'Brien represented the Flagstaff Nationals Team at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

John Cartier helped revitalize Flagstaff's poetry slam scene two years ago and is on his second nationals team. Cartier is well-known for his politically savvy and socially edgy performance poetry. John Cartier represented the Flagstaff Team Jade Conscious at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Son of a nightclub singer, Kingman slam poet Mikel Weisser spent his teens as a hitchhiker. Since then Weisser has gone on to receive a masters in literature and a masters in secondary education, published hundreds of freelance magazine and newspaper articles and political comedy columns, along with seven books of poetry and short fiction. A former homeless shelter administrator, contestant on "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," and survivor of his first wife's suicide, Weisser teaches junior high history and English in Bullhead City. He and his wife, Beth, have turned their So-Hi, Ariz., property into a peace sign theme park.Mikel Weisser recalibrated the stage after intermission at the Sedona Poetry Slam on June 27.

I performed the poem "In the Corners of This Room" while hosting the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009. After seeing myself on video, I am surprised by three things:1) That I ever get laid. Seriously? How could a woman with working eyesight be attracted to that?2) That I ever win slams. How can you listen when I look like a flesh version of Gumby.3) That people don't hit me in the face with a brick more often. I mean, I want to right now.

In the Corners of this Room

In the corners of this room,the dust is centuries thickaccumulated from the hundreds of thousandsof footfalls that have shaken the hardwood floors

in the corners, the dust narrates storiesof surviving the earthquake that leveled the city of Lisbonin 1755 but left this building standing

its tiled walls still echoes the voicesof the men from the 16th centurywho filled this librarywhispering to each otherthe truths that they gleaned from illuminated books

this dust heard Napoleon at the gatesheld safe the patriots that resisted himthe vaulted arches comforted both factionsin the civil war without choosing sidesto further divide the brothers already at war

the dust in this room withstood the revolution,the coup d'état, the book-burners,the two world warsand the end of an empire

the dusted lasted all these yearsbut never has it seen anythingas beautiful as her

she, the dancer, glides across this hardwood flooron bruised and battered toesher arms ache from repeating the movementsuntil they are flawless

she takes the trainthe bus, the metroto come heresuffer the abuse of a teacher demanding no lessthan perfectionshe is intimidated by her own passionyet will not surrender

she, the dancer, is artistry in motion,skimming over the hardwoodwith every limb, every ounce of herarticulating all the poetry that used to fill this room

books are no longer necessarydefine beautywatch herwhat is art?watch heris there a god?watch her

speak to me a radiant poem about a sun risewatch her and the poemwill spill from lips like breath

she does not move like usher muscles are an armyevery part, an instrumentcombining the chorus of her feetwith the brass of her legsthe strings of her armsthe percussion of her chestbeating her heart drumin rhythm to the symphony of her presenceif the tiles had eyesthey would not blinkfearing that she would wisp away like a dreamin the sunrise streaming through the windows

fill this space with the memory of your movementsdance across these wood floors that creak underfootand ache to hold your stepsfor a moment,like a lover would

as she dances at the center of the worldthe dust, in the corners of this room,forgets all the yearsforgets the wars, the blood, the books, the whispersand she,at this momentis why this building ever stood

Frank O'Brien is a 20-year-old student at Coconino Community College, focusing in the general studies and pre-nursing. Originally from Phoenix, O'Brien entered the slam poetry scene in fall 2007. In August 2008, he traveled to Madison, Wis., as a member of the 2008 Flagstaff National Slam Team. O'Brien is now an active poet and administrator of the FlagSlam Poetry Slam in Flagstaff.Frank O'Brien represented the Flagstaff Nationals Team at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

John Cartier helped revitalize Flagstaff's poetry slam scene two years ago and is on his second nationals team. Cartier is well-known for his politically savvy and socially edgy performance poetry.John Cartier represented the Flagstaff Team Jade Conscious at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Jessica Guadarrama is a Sedona Red Rock High School alumna and current Northern Arizona University student. Guadarrama describes herself as a bilingual Mexican-American. She started writing in eighth grade but it wasn't until ninth grade that she discovered slam poetry when NORAZ Poets held a slam at the SRRHS auditorium. Jessica Guadarrama represented the Flagstaff Nationals Team at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Frank O'Brien is a 20-year-old student at Coconino Community College, focusing in the general studies and pre-nursing. Originally from Phoenix, O'Brien entered the slam poetry scene in fall 2007. In August 2008, he traveled to Madison, Wis., as a member of the 2008 Flagstaff National Slam Team. O'Brien is now an active poet and administrator of the FlagSlam Poetry Slam in Flagstaff.Frank O'Brien represented the Flagstaff Nationals Team at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Dana Michelle Sakowicz is a Sedona Red Rock High School alumna who has been a poet and official scorekeeper at FlagSlam. Dana represented the Flagstaff Team Jade Conscious at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Vermont slam veteran Kayt Perlman.Just in from Southern Vermont, Perlman aka Kayt Pearl, has recently relocated to Sedona with a deep sigh of relief. The north is cold. Co-founder of Women Divine Acapella & Rhyme, a traveling collaborative installment of all-women expression; Finder/Founder of Sound Foundation, an organization/movement for universal connection and cross cultural understanding through word and sound; northeastern regional slam poetess and co-master and founder of Martial Poetry Slams, the local slam scene in Brattleboro, Vt., local vocaless singer/songwriter and otherwise unknown human just trying to commun-i-kayt with the rest of us.Kayt Perlman represented the Sedona Team at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Aaron Levy is a longtime veteran of the Flagstaff poetry slam scene."I am an Anarchist. I believe that the capitalist fairy tale is killing us all. What's great is that it seems to be killing itself right now I love a great deal but I have no room in my life for dogmatic and destructive religions that are destroying this world through patriarchal heterosexist privilege constructs."Aaron Levy represented the Sedona Team at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Ryan Brown is a kid from Phoenix who spends most of his time posing as a writer and poet. He now goes to school and lives in Flagstaff, where he is the SlamMaster of the FlagSlam Poetry Slam.Ryan Brown represented the Flagstaff Nationals Team at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Taylor Kayonnie is a 16-year-old poet from Flagstaff who has already made a name for herself competing against poets in college, their 20s and 30s. Taylor Kayonnie represented the Flagstaff Team Jade Conscious at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Son of a nightclub singer, Kingman slam poet Mikel Weisser. spent his teens as a hitchhiker. Since then Weisser has gone on to receive a masters in literature and a masters in secondary education, published hundreds of freelance magazine and newspaper articles and political comedy columns, along with seven books of poetry and short fiction. A former homeless shelter administrator, contestant on "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," and survivor of his first wife's suicide, Weisser teaches junior high history and English in Bullhead City. He and his wife, Beth, have turned their So-Hi, Ariz., property into a peace sign theme park.Mikel Weisser was the calibration poet and scorekeeper at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, June 27, 2009.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Sevastopol (Ukrainian: Севастополь) is a port city in Ukraine, located on the Black Sea coast of the Crimea peninsula. It has a population of 342,451. The city, formerly the home of the Soviet Black Sea Fleet, is now a Ukrainian naval base mutually used by the Ukrainian Navy and Russian Navy.One of the most notable events involving the city is the Siege of Sevastopol (1854–1855) carried out by the British, French, Sardinian, and Turkish troops during the Crimean War, which lasted for 11 months. Despite its efforts, the Russian army had to leave its stronghold and evacuate over a pontoon bridge to the north shore of the inlet. The Russians had to sink their entire fleet to prevent it from falling into the hands of the enemy and at the same time to block the entrance of the Western ships into the inlet. When the enemy troops entered Sevastopol, they were faced with the ruins of a formerly glorious city.

We Met in SevastopolFor Nika Levikov

We meet in SevastopolI discuss the politics of the placewhile she talks about zoologyand a recent trip to IsraelI relate details of Dublinto sound more worldly than I am

somewhere beneath the heavy jazzand the lingering cigarette smokeshe takes my friend’s handand they dance hip-hop and salsato a song foreign to their footstepssomewhere above,Celia Cruz, Miles Davis,and Saul Williams’ dead emceemeet for the first timesmile and wonder whythey never met beforewhile down belowshe ties my tongue with questionsI used to easily evade like a matadorbut her horns clip my capeand waking up in the ICUI ask how she got so close so quicklypunched a hole in my chestwhere my heart should beI thought the cage I built around itwas impervious to impetuous inquisitorsbut tin isn’t steeland bruises with every beat

we pass letters of lightbrief and instantacross the miles between uscondensing thoughts into seventeen syllablesand I still can’t say it right

“I like you but Ihave no idea what I’m doingplease forgive me”

yet all the moments and wordsseem right somehowdespite all myover-thinkingstumbling awkwardly perfectlytoward wherever we’re meant to be:friends or loversor poetic equals or forever strangersor somewhere in betweenand somewhere above,Anaïs Nin, Anne Sexton,and Simone de Beauvoirmeet for the first time,smile and wonderin whose footsteps she’ll follow me

from Sevastopol, she visits my citythe desert gallery soaking her to the bonewe traipse to Guadalajara suburbsthen travel to Chengdutrading stories the way penpals trade lettersand I taste our future in the sweet and souron a mountain top freezing in the night air,we search for Pluto among the starsknowing they found it right here decades agoI head home with my foolishnessas the only passenger

she visits when times are slowand she needs someone to fill her lonelinessI bite my lip with the anticipatory heart-skipping pulseof seeing herof sharing poetry and storiesbut bite my tongue near herI need a smaller mirror or flexible camera lensto see what’s written between tastebudsit’s scrawled in Russianbut I forgot how to read Cyrillic alphabetswhen my paternal bloodline said farewellto the Ukrainian-Polish borderI would ask her to translatebut “you can’t say what you feel”can only be read by her kissand“you don’t know what you feel”can only be read by her eyes on a pageand to ask her answer one way or anotherwould only ruin it allit’s a fifty-fifty chance that I can’t afford to lose

this paradox of Russia has doomed men in uniformsince Napoleon visited Moscowduring the tourist off-seasonwith a million spring-breakers in towand a hundred years later when Hitler did the samethey both brought back postcards of dead boys my agefrozen in the snowand the wisdom that a land war in Asiaonly leads to failure in Risk

she hooks me like a fishright through the lipso that my words spill out sloppyand any tricks I might use to move herone way or anotheronly tear my skin wide openso I just follow in her footstepstry to lead her where’s she likely to followhope that her pet puppy remembersthe friendly familiarity of my scentlonging to treat her life kindlybring along enough water to quench her thirst

somewhere in Sevastopolechoes etched into brick wallsremember that on one Saturday during the siegeher great-great-grandfather and minesaluted Nakhimov side-by-sideafter hers returned from Shabbatand before mine went to Massstood side-by-side bearing polished Warsaw musketsthat would fail to stop the citadel from fallingin the night, in the cold,they shared Cossack and gypsy fiddle tuneswhile watching Raglan’s troops shiver in the darkand the scuttled Black Sea fleet sink into the harbor

two centuries laterI find the same ambiguity between usas the muddled history betweenTatar, Ukrainian, Russian, Krymchak and Karaitewho can all call Eduard Bagritsky,Taras Shevchenko and Hayim Bialik their poetsLeon Trotsky or Moshe Dayan their generalsmake them their patriotsdepending on context

I don’t know what to make of herally, lover, friend or strangerbut the poetry between us binds usAnton Chekhov, Isaac Asimov,and Vladimir Nabokovmeet for the first timesmile and wonderin whose footsteps I’ll follow herand through the haze I see her nearsomewhere in Sevastopolin the shadows of our fathers’ fathers tombsbeneath the dates that bookended their livesin the whispers the grassthe answer liesbut Cyrillic is not my native scriptso I must stumble onwardtake note of the shape of charactersand play the cards she dealswondering myselfif somewhere aboveshe and I will meet againlike it’s the first timethen smile and wonderwhy it took so longto learn who we weremeant to become

CFG the slam poet

Fox the Poet

Christopher Fox Grahamis a Montana-born boy raised in Arizona to be a poet, artist, and singer with unending wanderlust. He's fascinated with art and other shiny things, a good story will keep him captivated and silent as he soaks you in.

In truth, he is good at only three things: using language, kissing, and driving.

He has performed for MTV and on The Travel Channel's "Your Travel Guide" episode of Sedona. Aside from winning more than 100 poetry slams, he's published four books of poetry, most recently The Opposite of Camouflage, and won the 2012 Dylan Thomas Award for Excellence in the Written and Spoken Word.

A slam poet since 2001, he currently hosts the bimonthly Sedona Poetry Slam in West Sedona.

For nearly four years, he was the senior Copy Editor of the Sedona Red Rock News, and an arts reporter and a columnist. He wrote a weekly column "Sedona Underground," about the city's art scene. After leaving in May 2008, he was asked to return as Assistant Managing Editor in October 2009. He was promoted to News Editor in April 2012 and in August 2012 was promoted to Managing Editor, overseeing the Sedona Red Rock News,The Camp Verde Journal, Cottonwood Journal Extra, The Scene and The Village View.

He has won numerous personal and editorial newsroom awards from the Arizona Newspapers Association, including three awards for Best Headline.

He was the managing editor of Kudos, a weekly arts and entertainment publication of the Verde Independent. He was also managing editor of The Villager, a weekly news publication in the Village of Oak Creek.

He is one the six coordinators of GumptionFest a kickass, annual, one-day grassroots arts festival held in Sedona, this year in September. More than 100 artists and bands exhibit their work for free to more than 1,200 people.

In 2005, he founded the Sedona Poetry Open Mic, which he hosted biweekly at Java Love Cafe on second and fourth Tuesdays until 2012. A former venue included Random Acts of Coffee, in Sedona, which closed in June 2005. The venue named a drink after him which one can order an various coffeehouses in Sedona. The "Topher": A large soy chai with two (or three) shots of espresso. Serve iced or hot. He was member of the city of Sedona Child and Youth Commission for two years and chairman for another two years before the commission was dissolved in 2008.

He has been unofficially named "The Voice of the Underground," in Sedona for his column "Sedona Underground" that appeared every Friday in The Scene. for more than three years, featuring more than 150 artists.

He won the 2004 NORAZ Poets Grand Slam, the 2005 Arizona All-Star Poetry Slam, and was a member of the 2001, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2010, 2012 and 2013 Flagstaff National Poetry Slam Teams. He was also a National Poetry Slam bout manager in 2003, venue manager in 2011, and Sedona Slammaster in 2012, 2013 and 2014, sponsoring the city's first three Sedona National Poetry Slam Teams.

He believes that all slam poets are Jedis.

He has been thrown out of six movie theaters, 18 bars, a Las Vegas nightclub with his girlfriend, a public pool, two malls, four golf courses, one bowling alley, five dorms, one airport, one pet store, a now-defunct nonprofit poetry organization ... and Canada. Seriously.